


Hero

by willowwand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-01
Updated: 2006-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowwand/pseuds/willowwand
Summary: Ron contemplates heroism





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Ron was not a hero and he should know; his uncles had been heroes, after all. It had taken a  _dozen_ Death Eaters to finish off Gideon and Fabian Prewitt.  

 

They hadn’t even needed to fight in the war. No one disputed the purity of their blood. They were simply doing what was right.

  _Mudblood._   

_He_ had called her a Mudblood.

 

In a split second he reacted, pulling out his battered wand, the one with the unicorn hair sticking out, the one with splintering wood held together with Spellotape, and aimed it at the hateful boy. The boy whose family, Ron’s father always said, may be pure in blood but not pure in soul.

 

Ron was trying to do what was right, to defend her, even though she hardly needed defending. But she didn’t understand what _he_ had called her, what it meant. 

 

Now, Ron lay sprawled across the ground, beat-up wand clutched in his hand. He felt the sting of humiliation as he vomited glistening, black slugs onto the bright, green grass of the Quidditch pitch.

 

No, he thought sadly, he was not a hero.


End file.
